The Devil Inside
by Sunny33
Summary: Be careful what you wish for...you might not like what you find. Dean gets violent. H/C for both boys. Post 4.22 5/5. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**The Devil Inside**

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"So, how violent, is violent?" He asked.

The Charge Nurse looked him up and down before replying.

"Nothing you need to worry about, I'm sure. But, I still want Virgil and Todd to come with you. Brother or not, I don't want your death on my work sheet tonight. I have an allergy to paperwork, you understand." The nurse flashed a dead eyed smile at him. Confident in his authority.

The Brother loosened his shoulders and breathed out. His attempt to calm himself. He followed the nurses down the corridor. He watched them open the hatch and both peered into the room before glancing at each other and unlocking the door.

Inside was grey. A grey floor, leading onto grey walls with grey padding up to head height. In one corner was a grey blanketed bed, and in the other corner sat the patient, on a plastic chair. The only colour in the room appeared to be the dried blood spots on the floor that he walked through to enter the room.

With a sigh, Virgil turned towards the brother.

"Someone here to see you, Sam." He gestured for the brother to approach. "Talk to him if you want...he doesn't speak."

The Brother only half heard him. His gaze was focussed on the patient. The shape of his head. The gentle slope of his shoulders. Inside, a mixture of heartfelt joy and sad concern.

"How did you know his name?" The Brother asked.

"It was the only thing he said. Some people are so distressed, all they know is their names." Virgil answered.

He softly walked forward and stood by the bed. At this angle, he could see his face. A burst lip. His knuckles scabbed over. Remnants of the violence the Charge Nurse had warned him about. The Brother licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.

Ten months and three days. That's how long he had searched for him. Ten months and one day ago, he'd woken up in a hospital ward aware that his brother wasn't with him. That something was wrong. Very wrong. And now that he'd found him – things were still wrong. This wasn't the brother he remembered. This wasn't the brother he'd lived and worked with. Laughed and cried with. No sarcastic wit, no brightening smile. Just dead eyes gazing into the wall in front of him.

He searched for the end of the bed with one hand as he sat down, his gaze never leaving his brother's face.

"Hey..." his voice was barely a whisper.

No reaction. No movement. No recognition. The silence was deafening, his audience with high expectations. He tried again.

"You...you don't look like a Sam, " a feint smile crossing his mouth. "See...I've always known you as Dean." He thought he'd never say that name to his brother again.

No reaction. Not even a flickering eye movement.

Virgil and Todd exchanged a glance.

"Is this your brother, Mr Winchester?" Virgil asked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

"Is this your brother, Mr Winchester?"

Sam nodded. He swallowed back his emotion. He didn't want them here. This was too precious – this time with Dean. Too valuable to share with strangers.

"He's my brother." He glanced over at the nurses. "You guys can leave now. We'll be fine."

Virgil pursed his lips. "I'm sorry, Mr Winchester. We have orders..." he trailed off. Sam nodded again.

He watched Dean stare at the wall. So many questions, he wanted to know it all. Where did you go? What happened? What did you do? What are you thinking? Do you know it's me? Do you know it's Sam?"

He raised a hand – but from the corner of his vision, he could see Virgil tensing. A quick glance warned him off from touching Dean. The violence thing again. He cleared his throat.

"Dean..." he began. "I'm here now, and I'm gonna fix this. Whatever's happening...with you...I'm going to fix it." Dean stared at the wall. Virgil and Todd shifted their positions.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

10 months earlier...

"Dean..." he began. "We can fix this. Whatever's happening...with you...we can fix it." It was only then that he could see his outstretched hand was shaking. A slight tremor already betraying the firm, controlled voice he was aiming for. The pain in his shoulder gnawed incessantly – along with the realisation that his brother had just shot him.

"Shut up!" Dean barked. His gun raised, strong and true.

"This isn't you...you know that..."

"Shut the fuck up!" he screamed, trying to shake off the excruciating pain that drilled into his skull. Detached for a moment, he pulled his head down, the pain forcing a grimace intense enough to mutate his face into...into someone barely resembling his brother, Dean. The gun waivered, and Sam considered rushing him.

"I...I have to do this..." he sobbed into his arm, now covering his face. "You won't be safe...if...if I stay..."

Sam leant back against the wall, the change in position doing little to ease the gripping pain from his shoulder, but inside, the reality felt much, much worse.

Dean was right. He had to leave.

Whatever had Dean, whatever it was that was forcing him to kill indiscriminately, to torment, to attack without fear or consequence - wasn't going to stop him from eventually killing Sam. That was as plain and at the same time, as painful as Sam had ever realised in his entire life.

Three weeks ago. That was the first time.

Dean's stoney silence hadn't raised much notice from Sam that first day. They'd had days like that before – where one brother had almost bowed to the weight on their shoulders forcing some temporary shut-down in communication. In response, the other brother would simply learn to wait. Wait for it to pass. And it usually did.

And then, Sam had walked in on Dean with the vampire.

The culmination of a particularly gruesome, frantic, last ditch fight within a nest of young and vicious vampires, had the boys separated for a while. In the midst of the battle, Sam had successfully killed three of the nest, while Dean had struggled with the fifth last male assailant who had managed to drag him into another room. When Sam had careered in to back him up – the sight that greeted him had stopped him dead. Dean was kneeling on the vampire's chest – the vampire's mouth open and ready to retaliate, but helpless under Dean's weight. Instead of the quick, trademark, efficient kill with his knife – Dean had taken the trouble to slowly push the tip of the knife into the vampires neck...the blood oozing down towards the floor boards and pooling at his right knee. As Sam watched, he could see the tension leaving his brother's form – as if he was relaxing into the grizzly task. As if he was enjoying the slow, methodical aspect of the kill. Then he'd angled the knife towards the vampire's eye...

"Dean?" he'd said, as the vampire arched and gasped beneath Dean. And Dean's head had snapped around – a look of defiance...no guilt, no hesitation. He'd merely lifted his knife in both hands and plunged it into the vampire's neck.

Dean took a sleeve across his face and refocussed on his task. The gun remained, aimed at Sam's chest this time. As he backed away – Sam inched forward.

"Dean...just another day..."

"No."

"Whatever happens, I'll be ready – I can handle it..."

"No...," Dean whispered, his voice small and strained with emotion. "Don't you get it?" He leant towards him now. "Don't you see...how easy it would be for me to end you? " He gestured towards his own head. "All this...all this pain I feel, this unbelievable weight I have dragging me down – drowning me...Sam...it would all go away if I just did what he wants."

"You can take it...you're - "

"Strong?" Dean suddenly snorted, his eyes changing, realising his potential. "I'm strong, is that what you were gonna say?" His gaze locked onto Sam's eyes, boring into him with intense determination. "I broke once, remember...we both know, I'll do it again."

"No..." Sam's voice broke and he fought to regain his own strength.

Dean turned away. He stood up and pulled roughly at the worn grey hold all he called his own. A few items, nothing of importance – his mind set on leaving. On getting away.

Sam stood up on shakey legs. Dean watched him from the side of his vision. Sam licked his lips and forced his bloodied hand out towards him. He closed his eyes - the familiar push and pull of energy beginning to build. He could do this – he would do it, for Dean. A few seconds of effort would do it – Ruby had been wrong, he still had it – he could still pull demons from people – and he'd do it now. One more time.

But, Dean was ready. A simple side step had diverted the force of Sam's power and he'd lunged at him from the side. As Sam opened his eyes - all he could see was the flash of Dean's gun coming down onto his face. His head jerked back in a sick reaction to the force of the blow – Dean's hate filled eyes the very last thing he saw.

The butt of Dean's gun, the very last thing he felt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

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The Charge Nurse considered the brother's sullen demeanour as he entered his office. Virgil and Todd merely nodded as they walked on towards their next task.

"He's beat up," Sam stated briskly. A flash of anger. He gestured towards his own face. "How does that happen in a 'place of safety'?

The Charge Nurse sighed with a weary acceptance and merely shifted in his seat behind his desk.

"When you're brother ... Dean...first came to us – he'd been arrested for some serious crimes," he glanced at his file, "under the name of...David Van Halen. It was only during court proceedings that his...sanity became an issue." With a majestic sweep of his hand, he offered Sam a chair on the other side of the desk. Sam sat down. The Charge Nurse flipped through the pages of the file.

"His paranoid delusions, his God obsession and occasional demon worship issues dramatically increased in confinement, and he would become...violent...towards himself, as if trying to fight something inside. It's a common presentation in psych facilities all over the world, Mr Winchester."

Sam met his gaze, his eyes falling towards the floor again as he knew that any hunter, possessed, could be mistaken for being just plain crazy. Sad but true.

"Uh...he has a huge scar on his chest...are you aware of that?" The Charge Nurse searched Sam's face for information. Sam shook his head.

"Just about...here?" he pressed a palm against his own chest. The tattoo. "We think he's been tortured, but without any insight into the life he lead after he went missing...it's impossible to say. "

Sam frowned.

"When can I take him home?"

*

*

10 Months earlier...

Blurred focus.

That heavy, sluggish, cotton wool feel to everything. He pressed his fingers into the soft cloth beneath his hand. Hospital sheets. A pale apparition loomed above him. Blue eyes, light hair. A soothing voice that drifted into his consciousness.

"Sam? Can you hear me, now?" it said. A soothing hand against his face.

"Hmm." He blinked hard at it, until the detail appeared. A nurse. A middle aged nurse.

"Well, hello there, mister," she smiled at him. "How are you feeling? "

Sam forced a dry tongue around cracked lips.

"Better...thanks," the stock answer. He didn't feel better, he felt like shit and already, he was preoccupied with searching his mind for the events that had brought him here.

She pulled back from his vision, smoothed out the sheets and hummed a cheerful ditty to herself. "You're just in time for lunch. You must be starving," she trilled.

"Is...is my brother here?" Sam remembered that much. His shoulder stabbed out a familiar sting of pain. A further reminder.

"Um...now, let's see, there's your Uncle Bobby, he's been here a couple of times...but no...nope. No one else," she admitted honestly. Sam looked around the room. Seven shades of white. The sunlight glaring into the window bounced off the white bed sheets, the white floors and the whiter walls. Almost blinding. An ethereal glow around Nurse Betty, busying herself in the corner.

A sudden movement by the door, and Sam almost wrenched his shoulder turning to look at the source. Bobby. The Nurse smiled brightly as she passed him, his expression stricken and paled.

"Sam?" he said softly.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam maintained eye contact. The older hunter moved towards him, and rested a hand on Sam's arm for a beat. Sam looked down at the unusual physical contact between them.

"What's up?"

"Wish I knew, boy," he rasped. His familiar gruff voice a sudden comfort to Sam.

"Where's Dean?" Bobby shook his head. Swallowed hard.

"He's gone," he touched his cap, fidgeted with the collar of his shirt. "He attacked you, Sam."

"Attacked me? " Sam snorted at the thought. "Dean wouldn't - "

"Oh, he did. Phoned me up to tell me about it," he cut in. "Was real upset, said he knew what he'd done and asked me...asked me..."

"Asked you, what?" Sam demanded.

"Asked me to look out for you...said, said he'd never come back...said we had to...forget about him..." he trailed off - a sudden sadness flicking across his face.

A flash of memory crossed Sam's mind as Bobby relayed his sad tale. A sick and twisted replay of events. Dean had shot him. Dean had screamed into his face. Dean in pain. Dean fighting the urge within.

"I think he's possessed," Sam mumbled, almost to himself. He lifted a trembling hand up to his head.

"He's protected...he can't be. "

"I don't know how, Bobby, but he has to be. We...we had a huge fight...about a vampire he'd "tortured. "

"What?"

"I know, but I saw it. I know what I saw. " Sam grimaced at the pain in his shoulder. "There were other things...like, little things before that – but I was too damned tied up in my own self pity to even notice."

"Sam..."

"No, Bobby – I don't know how it's happened, I'm not even sure it's really the case – but I think Dean's been possessed and he was trying to fight it," Sam bit his lip at the memory. Bobby 's eyes flicked over Sam's injuries. The entire left side of his face was swollen and bruised, blackened by the butt of a gun. Dean's gun. His left eye bloodshot and blown. His left shoulder bandaged and cuffed. His left hand hanging limp.

"How long have I been here?" Sam asked.

"I found you last night – in the motel...beaten to a pulp, just as your brother described."

"What else did he say, Bobby?" Sam almost pleaded.

"He kept saying how sorry he was...he said he had to do it...that he couldn't fight it." He cleared his throat. "And that you should never go after him. He said that twice, Sam. And he meant it."

Sam pushed his head back into the pillow and closed his eyes to Bobby's sadness.

*

*

*

The wall remained the same. Unchanged. He liked the wall.

When he stared at the wall – he could avoid his voice. His thoughts. The wall probably bored him, somehow. Probably switched him off. There were no walls in hell. Oh, there were racks and benches and hooks and such like.

But no walls. No privacy in your agony. It was there for all to see.

Today had been different though. Not the same. Changed.

Something good had happened today though.

A familiar voice, had returned to him and it hurt him to admit it. But he kept replaying the words that he'd heard. As if he was in the room with him. The familiar timbre of his voice, the soft tone, the verbal inflections he remembered from his past. His lip quivered and he bent his head. Fat tears rolled down his face and dripped onto his pyjama bottoms. He forced back a sob.

It couldn't be. Surely not. He'd never hoped. Never even imagined that he would ever be allowed to think about Sam again. It had been so long. He'd never allowed it before. And the memory had been so sweet. So precious.

He swallowed hard – and resumed his position. Head erect. Eyes forward. No more thoughts about Sam. Something else, just think about something else. 'Cos if he finds out...well...if he knew, then he'd be angry.

The retribution would be swift and terrible.

*

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**Blimey...kinda scraping the barrel for reviews here, guys. Is it that bad? If so, tell me how. Always open to help/advice/criticism...honest. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

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The unit alarm screeched, it's irritating tone only adding to the tension. The Charge Nurse lifted lazy eyes up towards the corridor outside.

Psych nurses running – all hands requested.

From Dean Winchester's room – the roar of descent, of hate, of ultimate, all consuming rage filtered back to the Nurse in his office. Stumbling from the room – Todd left a bloodied hand smear on the white corridor wall as he slid down it – the maelstrom of violence continuing despite him.

With a sigh, the Charge Nurse flipped open the plastic file and jabbed a fat finger into the number pad of his phone.

*

Bobby tugged at his sleeves and smoothed the lapels of his suit. He glanced out into the main room, to see Sam still hovering. Impatient.

The phone call had produced an eruption of activity in the otherwise quiet atmosphere of Bobby's motel room. The psych unit had phoned Sam to postpone that day's visit. Dean had relapsed. No, they didn't think tomorrow would suit. Yes, there had been more violence. Yes, people had been hospitalised...again. No, there was nothing he could do, and if he turned up he'd be escorted from the unit. Bobby had never seen Sam so angry.

"They have no right to keep him from me!" he'd bellowed as he'd slammed the door shut behind him.

"They're only doing their jobs, Sam," Bobby had offered, not expecting a reply.

"We need to get in there."

"And we will," Bobby had replied. Now, as he smoothed down his hair and pocketed his new ID, he moved quickly through the empty room only to see Sam already sitting in the drivers seat, ready. He locked the door and jumped into the passenger seat of the Impala.

*

The Rookie hesitated at the sight before him.

Four psych nurses holding him down. Blood on the floor, on the padded walls. Inhuman screams of defiance, promising death to every one of them, the most horrific descriptions down to the last detail. This was the John Doe they'd all been talking about. Newly discovered by his brother as Dean Winchester. How he pitied who ever Dean's brother was.

He gripped the kidney dish tight, and was jolted into movement by Virgil's persistent signalling to come closer.

"Don't do it, Aaron!" Dean screamed, his neck cruelly contorted so he could see him. Aaron froze wide eyed at the use of his name. Virgil made eye contact with the other three nurses.

"Don't listen to him, just give it too me," Virgil said calmly.

"Think about your mother, boy. All alone in that house...when I break free...and I will...I 'm gonna need somewhere to go..."

Aaron swallowed hard.

"Don't listen to him!" Virgil repeated.

The rookie mesmerised by Dean's words. "How...how does he know me?"

One of the Nurses lifted a hand to wipe his face, giving Dean the opportunity to mock-lunge in response. The Nurse flinched and replaced his weight onto Deans shoulder again.

"He doesn't – he's just guessing," Virgil struggled to maintain his composure.

"Oh, I'm gonna have some fun with her, boy. Plenty time to play when you're at work all day." A low, deep throated laugh rumbled deep within him...making the hair on Aaron's neck tense up. And it could have been the light in the room, or the unusual angle he was lying at, but the Rookie could've sworn he'd seen Dean Winchester's eyes turn black...just then. Virgil increased his weight onto his back, and head, forcing Dean's face onto the bloodied floor.

"Give me the damn syringe!" Virgil hissed. Aaron stumbled forward to offer the dish. Virgil fumbled for it – pulled the lid off with his teeth, and positioned Dean's arm to administer the drug.

"Yeah, that's right, Virgin. You give the medication...if it makes you feel better," Dean snarked. The beads of sweat on his upper lip mingling with the blood from his nose. "Of course, there's no such thing as a virgin, is there...Virgin?" The syringe plunger descended. "'Cos in reality – life screws everyone."

Virgil remained silent. Better not to rise to it. Other patients, sure...but this one had cost them dear over the past few weeks. That last shot was enough to down a horse. If Dean Winchester kicked back from this round of meds, as soon as he'd saved his ass from another beating Virgil was calling the National Enquirer.

*

"Robert Sableworth to see you, sir," Aaron side stepped and gestured for Bobby to enter the Charge Nurse's office. The Charge Nurse blinked in surprise.

"Uh...Mr Sableworth...I wasn't told the State Inspector would be visiting today..."

"Well," Bobby accepted his hand. A firm hold. "That's kinda the point, isn't it?" Without being offered, he took a seat.

The Charge Nurse hurredly stacked the case notes from his desk and placed them onto a chair, beside another mountain of case notes. Bobby remained unmoved.

"Uh...bit of an 'off' day I'm afraid."

"So I hear. You're staff levels are at maximum though, Mr Barker, I'm sure you have it all in hand."

"It is now. The patient was finally subdued at a little after 3pm, and he's recovering in the infirmary."

"The infirmary?"

The Charge Nurse offered a nervous smile.

"Self harm, mainly. Although, he stabbed Nurse Langer with the leg of his plastic chair and took out a bank Nurse we'd just employed yesterday..." He trailed off.

"What's the status now?"

"Uh...he's subdued."

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "When did you last check?"

The Charge Nurse almost flinched his response. He sifted some papers. "Last got a report, two hours ago." He tried to sound confident.

"With a situation as serious as this, Mr Barker, I'd like a current status report...if you don't mind."

The Charge Nurse nodded, got up and promptly left the office.

Bobby pulled out his mobile.

"He's in the infirmary. And for God's sake, Sam...be careful."

*

Sam breathed in a cleansing breath, designed to relax his shoulders, which he was aware, were hitched and tensed up around his ears it seemed. This whole thing was jacked. If they'd found Dean anywhere else in the world other than a god damned Intensive Psychiatric Unit – he could have been exorcised and free of that filthy Demon that owned him.

And the irony was that it was probably the vast cocktail of drugs Dean was being fed that was stopping the Demon from just vacating the host. No self respecting Demon would suffer voluntary incarceration once they'd ruined the hosts life. So many hosts, and so little time.

He pushed the ward door open and was immediately stopped in his tracks. On the floor lay the contorted body of a psych Nurse, blood blooming on his abdomen and thigh. A sickly trail of blood lead up the ward towards another Nurse huddled against a wall, knees hitched, a head wound, gaping and wet. She lifted her head, and signalled, wide eyed towards the other end of the ward. The window smashed – the bars mangled and splayed – and Dean standing in pale scrubs, breathing hard, eyes blackened – smile sick and smug.

"Dean!" he shouted, his legs propelling him forward despite the Nurse's frantic signals to stay put.

From the window frame, Dean pulled a massive shard of glass from the debris and held it up to his wrist. Sam slid to a halt – his arm outstretched, his eyes wide with fear at his brother's actions.

"You should really just let him go, you know," Dean's mouth, but not his voice.

"Don't hurt him...please..."

"Awww," Dead eyes attempted to smile. "Such concern from his widdle bro. Too little, too late, boy."

And with that, he sliced his wrist with force and determination.

*

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**OK – unless I waffle on, I reckon the 5****th**** chapter will be the final one, guys. We'll get the boys together at last. Thanks for sticking with it. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, last chapter, guys. Thanks for all the reviews. Really appreciate the time you take to write 'em. Hope this ending dings your bell. See what you think...**

**Chapter 5 **

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One minute he was there. Then he was gone.

Sam jumped up onto the window sill, suddenly aware of movement behind him.

"He's just had his meds," the Nurse shouted after him. "He won't function much longer." With her words ringing in his ears, Sam jumped down from the window and sped off after Dean. The scream of the unit alarm dimming with distance.

Dean ran through the compound and athletically jumped up onto a wire fence. It trembled with his weight. Sam kept his focus on him – watched him jump down and barrel down the main road before careering across four lanes of traffic.

On the main road – Sam negotiated the same traffic, horns blasting, brakes screeching, his mind racing as to how far this super charged Demon could actually run with a bleeding wrist, bare feet and a gut full of medication.

Across some rough ground and over a wall. Down a railway embankment and across another highway – Sam ripped off his jacket and carried on running. In his line of sight – he could see Dean stumble and fall. This spurned him on. Dean got up – staggered down another hillside and onto another highway. A huge articulated lorry sounded it's horn – smoke from tires – and Dean pulled back to avoid contact – but the accumulated speed overwhelmed his intentions – and he ran right into the side of the truck.

Sam gasped at the sight of Dean spinning back from the truck and spiralling into a sickening tangle of arms and legs. The Artic slid to halt. The driver jumped out and ran back towards Dean. Sam slid, scrambled and stumbled his way down the hillside towards him, a trail of dust and rubble in his wake.

"I didn't hit him!" the driver yelled at Sam, his face stricken with fright.

"It's OK. I saw what happened..." He assured him. He approached his brother – Dean's eyes closed, his body limp, and bloodied. His left side covered in the blood from his wrist, his feet filthy and raw.

"No, no, no...no," Sam droned into himself.

The truck driver swallowed hard.

"Is he dead?" the truck driver wheezed.

Sam placed a trembled hand against Dean's jugular. "Um...I don't think so.."

Late afternoon traffic continued to pass them - apathetic onlookers getting their gory eyeful of the incident. There was no escape from them.

Sam looked up to see the Impala suddenly yaw into the side of the road and park right beside them.

Bobby was here.

*

*

Dean was a ragdoll.

His head lolled back, his arm swayed limply as Sam carried him towards the old bed in the corner. The smell from the mattress assaulted his nostrils as he spent time positioning Dean's head and attended to his wrist. Bobby dumped the medical bag at his feet, and stood open mouthed at the sight before him.

"My God, Sam..."

"I know," Sam returned softly.

The hasty exorcism had gone well, but the shell the demon had left them, was fragile and broken. The energy it took to exorcise his brother had left Sam weakened and frail for a moment, but sitting in the back of the Impala, with Dean's weight on his knees, had afforded him some time to recover.

Then they'd crossed over two states at break neck speed to evade any pursuers from the psych unit. The derelict farm house they'd come across was secluded enough, but painfully remote given the serious circumstances they now found themselves in. The stop gave Sam a good chance to assess all of Dean's injuries though, and plan their next move.

"Are you sure the truck didn't hit him?" Bobby asked.

"No...he ran into the side of it – he was beginning to stagger anyway. The drugs probably..."

"And the blood loss," Bobby added gruffly. He frowned and turned back towards the car.

Sam grimaced at the ragged edges of the wrist laceration. Poised with the needle – he worked fast to close it and bind it tight. Bobby had been careful to wash and dress Dean's feet, while Sam concentrated on cleaning and examining his bruised and battered face. A quick glance at the tattoo revealed a single burn strike, slicing the motif clean down the middle, the scar tissue emphasising the breach.

Three hours later, and the slightest sigh from Dean had Sam sitting by his side and resting a hand on his brothers face. Willing some kind of response. A lame batting of his hand, a groan of rejection...anything would be better than this.

"Dean," he whispered, his mouth suddenly dried with anticipation.

No response.

"Bobby?" he shouted over his shoulder - his fears reaching a personal peak.

Bobby appeared in the doorway.

"What if he doesn't respond? What if he doesn't recognise me? He didn't even know me back at the unit..." Sam blurted.

"Sam – "

"Maybe there's brain damage...I mean, maybe he was sick anyway, before that bastard took him over - "

"Sam," Bobby rested a comforting hand onto Sam's shoulder. An affectionate squeeze.

Sam immediately seemed to understand the gesture. He lowered his head and raked a hand through his hair. The boy was over wrought. Exhausted in his efforts to get his brother back. He'd seen it before. A steely determination to get his brother back that broke his heart to have to witness.

"Give it another hour. The boy's been ridden into the ground for the past..."

"Ten months and ten days," Sam finished for him.

*

*

"...Ten months and ten days," the voice said.

It even sounded like Sam. A tired, weary Sam.

Dean brushed the thought away. The claustrophobic fog that hung around him never seemed to fade or clear. It was like walking through sand – heavy legs dragging – not actually getting anywhere. And it hurt. Everything hurt. But then, he'd gotten used to that over time. Soon the incessant, drilling pain in his head would return. The start of his punishment.

He turned his head to the left. Towards the wall.

*

*

"Open your eyes. Dean...come on, man."

An age before his eyes cracked open. A hitch in his breath.

Sam froze in the moment – waiting for the reaction.

His eyes closed again. A frown.

A knot in Sam's throat, a gnawing, pulling ache in his heart. He imagined Dean going postal in the rickety confines of the farmhouse. But the Devil inside him was gone...there should only be Dean left...and not much of that either. He realised he was hardly breathing, as he waited for his brother to open his eyes again.

"Dean. You're free," he began. "It's gone...and you're safe. Just...just open your eyes." He curled his hand around Dean's as if transferring the energy his brother needed to wake up.

His eyes opened again. Half-mast at first. He looked up, as if something should be there, but wasn't.

"Hey," Sam whispered. Dean's eyes slid over to the source of the voice, and remained there for the longest time.

"Welcome back," He said softly.

"Sam?"

"Yes," he answered with confidence. Recognition at last. A gentle squeeze of his hand and the slightest twitch of his mouth. A sudden tremble of his lip and Deans eyes were suddenly brimmed with tears that rolled down past his temple and onto the make shift pillow Sam had fashioned for him.

Sam fought not to tear up too.

"You're here," Dean croaked.

"No, you are here. We're in Ohio. We got him out. He's gone...and you're safe now."

"That's...great," he whispered. The hand firm in Sam's. More tears, and Dean pushed his head to the side. A weak attempt to hide. Sam felt a sudden rush of embarrassment for him, and pulled back . He tried to concentrate on finding some painkillers Bobby had supplied, while his brother quietly fell apart beside him on the aged and dirty bed.

*

*

The candles flickered cheerfully – the dim light offered a warmer glow to the otherwise bare, wooden floored house. From the other room, Bobby's gentle snores signalled a certain acceptance that they were safe. That no one would find them.

Propped up against a bundle of blankets and overcoats – Dean watched his brother as he pottered about the room, cleaning his gun – sorting out clothes, clean and otherwise for Dean to change into.

"When did you first know?" Dean suddenly said quietly.

"What?" Sam dug deep into the hold-all for the mate of a clean sock he'd discovered. A rare find.

He stopped digging. This quiet time in the company of his brother, just the two of them, seemed too precious to disturb with cruel memories and bitter recriminations.

He shook his head. But, Dean waited.

"It doesn't matter now," he mumbled finally. He recalled trying to put his own jumbled, crazed and manic actions into some kind of order after Meg had possessed him. His out pourings of remorse and utter guilt hard for Dean to hear. So, he'd given up.

A further silence and Dean appeared to take the hint.

"I smell like shit."

"Ah...no, that's the bed I think." Sam smiled as he bundled a clean pair of socks together and dumped them onto the shirt and jeans he'd pulled out.

"You came after me...when I told you not too." Dean said firmly.

This one needed to be answered.

"You forget," He said softly. "I stopped doing what you tell me when you came back from hell, remember? Even an Angel told me to stop doing what I was doing...and I did it anyway," Sam admitted bitterly. He clenched his jaw at the memory.

A quick snap shot of events span through both boy's minds in the shared silence that followed. Of lies, and insults, and violence and distrust and failure and guilt.

"I remember," Dean replied. "I also remember telling you once... that nothing bad would ever happen to you, as long as I was still around."

Sam nodded with a frown. Aware that Dean was watching him.

"You did the right thing, Dean. If you hadn't gotten away when you did – we probably would've killed each other, and the Devil inside you would've won. I just found you at the right time...when he was compromised by drugs."

Another silence. The candles flickered gentle shadows at the walls.

A single sniff saw Sam turning to glance at Dean.

"Dude. I smell like shit. "

Sam cracked a smile.

"It's the softest place in the house, but... I could rig up a bed on the floor if you'd prefer." He offered, suddenly energised with the task ahead of him.

Dean nodded in gratitude.

He let his head rest back on the wall and closed his eyes as the sound of his little brother, moving around the room again, lulled him back into another restful nap.

**THE END**


End file.
